


Aroma(n)tic

by WilwyWaylan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Javert has Dad instincts, also very cracky, and Enjolras is mostly confused, modern!AU, platonic interest, sorry - Freeform, squish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 00:05:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: Enjolras is detained under Javert's supervision. Strange things happen.(written for lesmisrarepairsweek2018)





	Aroma(n)tic

**Author's Note:**

> SOMEONE gave me as a challenge "Javert / Enjolras", "squish" and "aromantic / aromatic" as subjects. I had to.

Javert finished filling out the form, signed and stamped it, and meticulously deposited it in the right bin, taking care of not smudging the ink. Good. He liked it when an arrest was done properly, and that included a clean report. Satisfied, he turned to the cell at his left, and the boy sitting behind him. He didn't look that proud now, hunched on himself, head bowed, his handcuffed hands hanging between his legs. His blond hair was tangled, a few strands matted against his temple. There was a bruise, there, almost hidden, and probably a cut too, judging by the thin red line that crossed his cheek. Javert walked to the bars, and contemplated him for a moment, hands behind his back.

  
\- Not very proud, now, are we ? He asked.

  
Enjolras didn't answer. He seemed to have lost his will to fight, at least for now. Javert grabbed his notebook, more for show that because he needed his report, and thumbed through it.

  
\- Are you happy with your... actions, Mr Enjolras ?

  
This time, the blond smiled a little. Of course, he could be proud of himself. The protest was nothing out of the ordinary, a manifestation for civil rights that escalated into a full-on brawl between manifestants and their opponents. The police intervened, and started trying to put some order into that mess. Which had been, of course, a total failure, because as soon as the first uniform was spotted, everyone had run in every direction. They had tried to at least catch the responsibles, and of course had set on Les Amis. This is where Enjolras had played heroes, by throwing himself at the cops to buy the others some time. He'd been arrested, of course, and gained that nasty hit for his troubles, but his friends could all run away.

  
\- Are you expecting a speech on libery and freedom of speech ? the blond finally answered. Or maybe on what it takes to stop our ideas ?  
His words were defiant, but he sounded more tired than agressive. Javert watched him for a moment longer, then, with a sigh, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to him.

  
\- You've got blood on your face, he explained.

  
Enjolras looked at him for a moment from under his locks, and Javert thought for a moment he would tell him where he could shove it. But instead, he took it, and started dabbing at his temple as well as he could. The task wasn't made easy by the fact that his hands were still cuffed together, but he managed to wipe most of it away. Gingerly, he put the now stained handkerchief on the bench beside him.

  
Javert had gone back to his desk, and was watching him, fingers joined in front of him. Enjolras tried to ignore him, slouching a little on the bench and closing his eyes. But the thing was... it was awfully boring in here. Being the only one arrested meant that there weren't any Courfeyrac or Bahorel to cheerfully relive their rally, nor any Combeferre to have a deep conversation with, or even any Grantaire to argue with him. There was no one to talk with. Except Javert, but was he going to have a conversation with Javert, of all people ? No. He pulled his coat around himself, and shivered. Why was it so cold around here ? Of course, governments tended to cut on corners in every area they could, and that included law enforcement. But really, didn't they even have enough to heat the cells a little ?

  
\- You look cold.

  
Enjolras bit back his acidic comment. But instead of adding something about fire of the revolution, or making it a lesson, Javert poured some coffee in a plastic cup, got up again, and held it through the bars. Enjolras just watched him, warily. The inspector had an impatient gesture, as if to order him to take it. The coffee was sloshing around in the gobelet, and if it probably wasn't awesome, at least it looked warm. Any other day, Enjolras would have refused. He had principles, and that included not making pacts with the Enemy. But right now, he was cold, his head hurt, and he could barely feel his hands.

  
So he finally grabbed the cup. A pleasant sensation of warmth immediatly spread through his fingers. He took a sip of coffee. As he thought, it was barely average and too strong, but it was hot, and that was enough. His stomach started rumbling in protest, reminding him that he didn't have eaten anything since this morning, and that was only thanks to Courfeyrac and Jehan who literally shoved croissants in his hands before the start of the rally. Then, his fervor might have made him forget to eat.

 

Javert reappeared on the other side of the bars, this time holding a take-out box. Under Enjolras' puzzled look, he deigned explain :

  
\- They are still warm. I don't have anything else here.

  
Usually, Enjolras would have scoffed at the proposition. But it was late, he was hungry, and there was something about Javert that looked curiously... disarming ? Of course, Enjolras couldn't forget that he was the one always arresting them ; he was almost The Enemy, the face of the state they were fighting. With, he had to admit, an impressive determination. After so many arrestations, any other man would have either been fed up with them and started charming them, or would have passed the buck to someone else a long time ago. But no, he was still arresting them, reading them their rights, keeping them behind bars for a time, giving them a lecture, and letting them go under supervision. Again and again and again. Did he expect that they would magically convert to his side and see the errors of their ways ? Did he really hope he would manage to make them better ? Well, hope or not, there was something to be said about his perseverance. Enjolras would never recognize it in front of the others, where Javert had acquired the status of their Nemesis, almost to the like of a boogeyman (Courfeyrac liked to joke that he hid under their bed to catch them breaking the law), but right now, where there was only him and no one to read his mind like his friends seemed to be able to, he could admit that it was... impressive, in a way. That was a strange thought, of course. Javert was a man one could admire. His determination, his belief in something that he felt was good could be admired.

  
But right now, the man who was looking at him from the other side of the bars, a white cardboard box in hand, didn't have much in common with the terrifying cop they told scary stories about. Right now, he just looked like someone who would have liked to be somewhere else. Nothing more than a man weary at the end of his day of work. A weary man who was currently holding out some take-out, like it was normal to feed the prisonners his own dinner.

  
Enjolras reached towards the chopsticks stuck in the box, but Javert stepped back. Ah. So that was just a trap. A way of making fun of him, of indicating that he was still at the mercy of his guardian. Maybe a way to make him beg, to assert some power over him. And here, he was thinking that Javert maybe wasn't that bad, and he... Javert cut through his thoughts, explaining :

  
\- I can't let you take ustensiles. Because of liability.

  
\- So, Enjolras managed to ask without too much sarcasm, how are we supposed to do ?

  
Javert seemed to think for a moment, while Enjolras refrained from just asking for the box. Hungry or not, he still couldn't resolve to eat like a pig.

  
\- There's only one way to do it, Javert finally answered.

  
 _Please don't say it, please don't say it_... Enjolras thought, crossing his fingers.

  
\- I'll have to feed you.

  
He had to reject it. He _had_ to. He could never, _ever_ accept this. _No one_ would accept this. Come _on_. He was a revolutionnary, the leader of a social justice group, he was fighting against The Man, the Rules, the governement. He would certainly _never_ accept to be fed by a servant of the law he was always fighting. Even less by Javert, their sworn adversary. On the other hand, he was hungry. And there were apparently the only persons in the building. No one to see him, or judge him. Except himself, of course. But this, he could deal with.

  
Finally, he gave Javert the tiniest nod, and scooted closer to the bars. He tried a last argument :

  
\- You don't need to do that, you know ?

  
\- I know, was the simple answer.

  
And left it at that. He wrapped a few noodles around the chopsticks, drained them a little, and passed them through the bars. Enjolras gingerly caught the bite, with a brief thought about how ridiculous he must have looked, being fed like some kind of clumsy baby bird. But the noodles were warm, and barely too spicy for him. So he just swallowed his pride with the mouthful of food. Javert gave him a second one, and he ate it too.

  
A dozen of bites went down like this, in a deep silence. It was a little easier, now, especially since no one was trying to make a witty comment about the situation. They both probably wanted to be done as soon as possible with the task. Enjolras was reaching to the next mouthful, when a flash suddenly illuminated the scene. They both froze as they were. Then, slowly, very slowly, they both turned towards the door.

  
Courfeyrac was standing in the doorway, his cellphone raised, and the largest grin in the world plastered on his face. Behind him, Combeferre, Marius and Jehan were all looking at the scene in front of them with interest. Enjolras first reacted :

  
\- It's not what it looks like.

  
He immediatly slapped himself, mentally. Of all the things he could have said, and he chose this ? Of course this was what it looked like ! It absolutly looked like Javert was feeding him noodles like some kind of bird feeding its young, and he really didn't want to go in that direction. He moved back in the cell, trying to find a bit of composure back, not to mention his dignity. But judging by the huge smiles his friends were sending his way, it was too late.

  
Javert didn't seem fazed by the situation. He just went to put his box back on the desk, and asked, in the most neutral tone :

  
\- I suppose you're here to gather your leader.

  
He presented the form to Combeferre, who signed it, then pulled Enjolras out of the cell with the usual lecture of staying out of trouble for once. They all just nodded without listening.

  
As they stepped out of the station, Combeferre pulled out his phone, made a face, and asked Courfeyrac :

  
\- I understand that you needed to send everyone that picture, of course, but did you really need that caption ?

  
\- Don't ask me to justify my art, Courfeyrac retorted. It would lose all meaning.

  
Enjolras choked. He hastily pulled his own phone from his pocked, swore when he remembered that he still had to turn it off. And here it appeared under his very eyes. Courfeyrac had perfectly captured the scene, without missing anything : the chopsticks, the pose of both protagonists. It was... it would have been a very nice pic if it wasn't so... awkward.

  
Then Enjolras' eyes fell on the caption. "Don't worry, Courfeyrac had written, it's perfectly aro. Aromatic, of course."

  
\- Did you really have to write this ? he groaned.

  
\- I did with what little time I had. I could have done better if you had both kept going.

  
Courfeyrac dodged the kick Enjolras sent him with an ease born of long habit, and went running down the street, trailing Marius and Jehan behind him. Combeferre stayed with Enjolras, walking beside him at a tranquil path. Neither spoke, and that was better. Enjolras still needed a little time to process what had happened. That was a side of Javert he had never seen. And with any luck, would never see again, not with Courfeyrac and his damn phone around, at least. Would it change anything ? No, of course not. Javert was still the Enemy. But even the Enemy could be admired, it seemed. Even the Enemy... Was human. And if he was human, then maybe someone.... could get closer to him ? Not that Enjolras wanted, of course. He absolutly didn't want to get closer to him than that, thankyouverymuch. But still, he mulled over that strange, and maybe a bit interesting, idea as they walked down to the Musain, where the others were impatiently waiting for them.


End file.
